


Dancing Around the Obvious

by andromedacrawley



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Reminiscing, Romance, admission of feelings, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, second love, set during some unspecified time in the later seasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29418906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedacrawley/pseuds/andromedacrawley
Summary: It was then that Tom realized the record had stopped playing. When it had happened, he couldn't say, but they kept swaying back and forth, more slowly than before. Tom didn't want to stop... didn't want to relinquish this rare chance to hold her in his arms.
Relationships: Tom Branson/Mary Crawley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Dancing Around the Obvious

**Author's Note:**

> During my rewatch of the series, I realized we never have any scenes where Mary and Tom dance together, so I thought I would rectify that! I hope you enjoy and have a happy Valentine’s Day!

Tom was surprised to hear the tinny notes of a song begin playing from down below. He walked down the hallway until he was in the gallery before stepping by the railing to look down into the hall. Mary was standing by the phonograph machine, staring at the record spinning away. He was a little surprised; she had rarely brought this out since Matthew's death. He tried to place the tune before deciding it didn't really matter to him.

"What's this?" He asked when he was halfway down the steps.

Mary turned around and much to his embarrassment with tears glistening in her eyes. "Nothing," she said before turning it off. Tom was about insist it wasn't necessary until she reached for another record and replaced the old one. A lively jazz tune began playing seconds later. She turned to him, significantly more composed, and asked, "Care to dance?"

"I'm afraid I'm not very good," he insisted.

"I don't care."

"Alright. For you." There were a great number of things he would do _for her_. More than maybe there should be.

His hand settled on her waist, her hand on his shoulder, and their fingers twined together before they began dancing. It wasn't a very romantic tune... not that it should be, he reminded himself.

"We've never done this before."

"Pardon?" Tom asked, a bit confused.

"Danced together," she elaborated, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Then you've forgotten our first dance. I'm wounded," he teased. When Mary gave him a quizzical look, he elaborated, "The Servant's Ball? The year I started working at Downton?" It had been his first and only as a servant, what with the war ending it only the next year.

"Of course. You're right. How stupid of me," Mary said, shaking her head.

"I don't blame you," Tom said with a smile. "It seems like a lifetime ago."

He turned them around, eyes landing on that spot where he stood almost ten years ago. He'd worn a grey suit, sipping at some punch and watching Sybil as she twirled around with William on the dance floor, skirt of her dress flaring out, trying to gather up the courage to ask her for the next song. However, his plan had been thwarted by Cora— Lady Grantham, as she had been then— approaching him.

"Branson, do you mind partnering with Lady Mary? She hasn't been asked yet." She had given him a saccharine smile as Mary stood beside her, looking annoyed and embarrassed in equal measure. Not feeling he could say no, he accepted, leading her out onto the dance floor.

Truthfully, it hadn't been very memorable. He stepped on her foot once, hastily apologizing. " _It's alright, Branson,_ " she replied crisply before making some remark about how maybe he could use his wages to pay for some dancing lessons. The only one thing he remembered with great clarity was watching Sybil over Mary's shoulder, who was spinning and laughing with Thomas now. Tom recalled comparing her to a princess in his mind, a little jealous that the oily footman had a chance to dance with her before he did.

But this time, he only had eyes for Mary.

"Even so," she replied, a blush on her cheeks, "I should have remembered. Sometimes I forget you used to be a chauffeur."

"Then it seems I've come a long way," mused Tom. For a time, it seemed like nobody could go a day in this house without reminding him that had once been the fellow who drove them around. He had felt unwelcome upon returning, especially since in his mind he hadn't been the chauffeur for some time. His life as a husband and journalist took precedence over his past.

"I'd say you have," Mary murmured. "But we haven't danced since. Why is that?"

Tom grinned back. "You never asked me."

"Typically the man asks the lady," Mary reminded him.

"You know me. I'm not one for tradition."

"No. I suppose you aren't." There was a moment where she looked thoughtful before saying, "I don't know how much I am, really."

Tom couldn't stop the laugh. When she gave him a look, Tom said, "You're more forward thinking than your grandmother or father, I will give you that, but you're as traditional as they come, Mary."

"You'd be surprised. I'm much more of a rebel than most realize," insisted Mary.

"That sounds rather exciting," remarked Tom.

"I mean it."

"But I like you as you are," Tom said, continuing the train of thought in his mind. "And it might surprise you to believe there are some traditions I think have their place."

"Hmm... Just not asking a lady to dance?" Mary arched one of her perfectly sculpted brows.

"I like a woman who knows what she wants," Tom said without thinking. Mary gave him a curious look as he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "And I believe they should seek those things out. I'd never want to impose."

"Well, you needn't worry about imposing with me," Mary said, voice taking a higher pitch. She averted her eyes to somewhere behind his shoulder. "I don't know what you were so worried about. You're a perfectly decent dancer."

Tom chuckled. "I could be better. I'm afraid I didn't take your advice to pay for some dancing lessons." His amusement increased exponentially when Mary groaned.

"You must pay no attention to the things I say... especially not to the things I said when I was younger. I was horrid."

"You weren't horrid," disagreed Tom. "You weren't the nicest, but not horrid." He could never describe her as horrid. "We all do things we regret when we are younger."

Her fingers twitched against his shoulder. "What things do you regret, then?" She asked lowly.

Tom swallowed. He had plenty of regret. The fire at Drumgoole, the fact he hadn't been honest with Sybil about his involvement, leaving her behind to find her way back to Downton while pregnant, not listening to Cora's pleas to take her to hospital, the mess with that maid... but he didn't want to think of all that now. "I almost threw a bucket of slop on a general visiting Downton."

A sharp laugh escaped her, echoing through the halls. The smile on her face made her eyes crinkle. "Goodness! When was this?"

"During the war," Tom said, pleased his words had the intended effect of lightening the mood. He didn't want to wallow in their collective melancholy... and he liked hearing her laugh, seeing her smile.

"Was it by any chance the time General Strutt come? The time you were a footman?" Mary asked. "Because I seem to remember Carson all but shoving you out of the dining room."

"That would be the time," said Tom. "I got in plenty of trouble over it... but that was mostly because they thought I was going to assassinate him."

"But you wouldn't have done." It wasn't a question; she had met his eye again, looking as if she was staring into his soul, as if she could see it clearly.

"No. I wouldn't have done." He knew his politics and views were often construed as revolutions and incendiary but he had always balked at personal violence and war. He hadn't even been able to pretend with other boys for the sake of a game. "I'm not a hater."

She nodded, as if that was something she could see for herself. He hoped so. "More a lover than a fighter," she surmised, and he ignored the way his heart flip flopped in his chest at hearing her low voice utter the word _lover._

"Yes. You could say that." Dimly, he wondered if she could feel his now racing heart— they were standing close enough, though they didn't touch, save her where their hands were placed on one another.

"So what had General Strutt done to inspire you to such uncharacteristic lengths?" She still sounded amused.

Tom wanted to shrug but he worried such a gesture would cause her hand to slip from its place on his shoulder. "I'm not a hater but it doesn't mean I wasn't angry." He wouldn't elaborate on the source of his frustrations— thinking of it in too much depth would hurt too much and remind of the dark, hopeless place he had been in after Sybil hadn't accepted his proposal. "I'd nearly been recruited. I wanted to humiliate the British army... but then I was turned down so all those plans were for naught."

Mary's brows furrowed. "Humiliate them?"

"Like I said, I was angry," emphasized Tom.

"Why were you turned down?" Mary asked, concernedly, eyes scanning him over as if she could see the source of the problem. "I don't remember anyone ever saying."

"I've a heart murmur." At her frightened look, he added, "It's not dangerous. It doesn't give me any trouble."

"That's a relief," she sighed, though she didn't look entirely convinced. Before he could reassure her once more, she said, "I'm still quite surprised, though, by your story. I can't imagine you doing something like that now."

"I _wouldn't_ do that now," said Tom with a laugh. "I've changed."

Sometimes, when he compared the person he was now to the person he had once been, Tom was a little saddened. Other times, he was relieved. He was pleased to have matured some. That was, he suppose, what fatherhood to a person... or losing someone.

"I think I have, too." There was a trace of sadness in Mary's voice. "Sometimes I miss who I once was," she said, her voice a reflection of his own thoughts, "but other times I look where I am and I'm glad that I'm not like her anymore."

It was then that Tom realized the record had stopped playing. When it had happened, he couldn't say, but they kept swaying back and forth, more slowly than before. Tom didn't want to stop... didn't want to relinquish this rare chance to hold her in his arms.

"Would they be proud of us, do you think? Of who we are?"

"I know Matthew would be proud of you," Tom answered immediately. How could he not? She had blossomed since being allowed a chance to run Downton herself. She was a wonderful (if sometimes somewhat distant) mother to George... and she was so strong. Tom wished she knew how much he admired her. "I don't know how Sybil would feel about my transformation." Considering it had been her wish to leave Downton behind and run off into the unknown with a man whose ideals contrasted her own family's, he imagined it was quite a slap in the face to see him carving out a niche amongst her family and adapting to their way of life.

Mary's eyebrows furrowed. "You don't think she would be pleased?"

"I don't know," Tom admitted. It felt good to be honest with somebody about those fears that plagued him at night. "I'm not the man she fell in love with. Not anymore."

Mary hesitated, looking very much as if she wanted to speak, then seemed to stop herself. Tom tried not be frustrated, as he had been interested in hearing what she had to say. It was a few moments later that she levelly said, "I'm not the woman Matthew fell in love with, either. I was... much softer back then. I let him change me." She met his eyes. "His death changed me, too. And I think hers changed you."

Tom couldn't bring himself to speak, his only reply a nod. How could it not alter him? How could he go on living the way he had after witnessing that?

"But... even if you still think Sybil wouldn't be proud of how far you've come, you need only know that I am. Very proud indeed." Mary met his gaze just for a moment before dropping it to his shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, too," confessed Tom, eyes not leaving her face. "Very proud."

Mary stopped moving, lifting her head to meet his eyes. Tom couldn't look away, in awe of all the emotions he read there. Was it possible...? Did she...?

"Tom," began Mary, voice quiet, "you know that I value a great deal, don't you."

"Yes," he whispered back.

"And that I... that I see you as one of my dearest friends."

"I know that, too." Tom didn't know if he was supposed feel disheartened or overjoyed. It was dangerous ground they were treading. When she said nothing more, he gently asked, "And is that... the extent of your feelings for me? As that of a dear friend?"

"No," Mary murmured back, her eyes leaving his to gaze down at his lips. Tom felt his heart racing, wondering if the force would be so great it would exit his chest. "I feel... more. Much more. More than I probably should." Her brown eyes were full of fear as she whispered back, "Do you...?"

"I feel the same way. I have for a long time." He couldn't stop himself from smiling, especially when she wore a matching one. "I never thought it was possible they would be reciprocated."

"Why not? Do you think me terribly shallow?"

"No, of course not." Mary was many things, but she loved with her whole heart and she knew the true value of love. She wouldn't be content with someone she found boring, even for the sake of money or a title. "It's just— I didn't think you would ever look at me like that."

"Well, I didn't set off to, that I'll readily admit," confessed Mary, taking a step closer into his personal space. "But I couldn't help it."

Oh God... this was everything he had wanted from that first moment he realized, feeling as if he had been struck by lightening upon seeing Mary one evening and implicitly knowing his feelings had surpassed the friendly and familial. He thought he had been lucky to find love once and be contented with it for the rest of his life... but twice...

Impressed by the weight of what they hadn't quite yet said, Tom leaned in, ready to claim her lips with a kiss, but he was stopped as the pad of her index finger pushed his mouth away. Tom opened his eyes, meeting her wide eyed gaze.

Shame nearly overwhelmed him. He must have somehow misunderstood her. He'd gone and ruined things with her, his only real friendship here...

"Not here," Mary said, in a voice not much louder than a whisper. "I wish I could explain but... not here. Not like this." She took a step away from him, adding more space between them. Tom couldn't help but feel disheartened.

All that changed when her hand slipped into his. "Later. Somewhere... somewhere where it's just us two."

And at once Tom understood what she was asking of him. He imagined it might be him saying the same thing if they were in the garage right now, a place haunted by so many memories that he had scarcely been in there since her death.

"I want you to," Mary continued, eyes not leaving his.

Tom felt his heart swell in his chest, a heart he thought had no right to love her as he did... but she felt the same way. She wanted him, too.

"Later then."


End file.
